


Depression

by selfmanic



Series: Avengers Kink Prompts [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Avengerskink, Depression, M/M, Suicide Attempt, Writing Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-01
Updated: 2013-09-17
Packaged: 2017-12-25 07:23:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/950294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selfmanic/pseuds/selfmanic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AvengersKink prompt:</p><p>Post movie Clint thinking Coulson is dead and runs away. He is really depressed and doesn't want to live, but won't kill himself for some reason (maybe he promised Phil?) So he runs away from SHIELD and starts hunting down those bad guys that he recruited for Loki, when Loki mind controlled him. He doesn't take care of himself very well, and gets injured a few times, but he keeps going.<br/>Sometime after while Clint is gone Coulson wakes up, finds out what happened, and tracks Clint down and brings him home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lost

Post movie Clint thinking Coulson is dead and runs away. He is really depressed and doesn't want to live, but won't kill himself for some reason (maybe he promised Phil?) So he runs away from SHIELD and starts hunting down those bad guys that he recruited for Loki, when Loki mind controlled him. He doesn't take care of himself very well, and gets injured a few times, but he keeps going.

Sometime after while Clint is gone Coulson wakes up, finds out what happened, and tracks Clint down and brings him home.

 

Clint sighted down a high powered rifle from a fifty story building’s rooftop, waiting for his mark to appear. It was an impossible shot but those were his favorites normally, the only thing that would have made it better would have been Coulson’s voice in one ear murmuring the spotters details, voice ordering him to take the shot. That was impossible now.

Clint had taken the news stoically, Natasha awkwardly holding his shoulder as she told him that Coulson, that Phil, had died in the attack. He had merely nodded locking his reactions down until they parted ways each headed out to a different safe house once Loki was off world and the Avengers scattered to the winds. Few members of Shield knew that Agent Phil Coulson was in a relationship of any kind, fewer still knew that he was in a relationship with his Asset, Agent Clint Barton. Only Natasha and Director Fury were in on that secret, one or the other often holding the rings that each wore when they were out on missions.

Clint held in his reaction until he was at the remote cabin he was using as a safe house, then he calmly and methodically destroyed every piece of furniture in the place. Curled in the wreckage he let the tears fall, collapsing from exhaustion and grief as he mourned the other half of his soul. He let himself howl for three days before he forced himself back up, old promises and orders from Coulson ringing in his ears.

Few knew how much of a stabilizing force Coulson had been for the younger agent. The story that Coulson had recruited Clint after shooting him was a rumor that had never died off. Coulson had been sent to recruit the young mercenary after he was discharged from the Army. Instead of the heroic chase across rooftops and through alleyways, it was a former army ranger turned Shield Agent who bound the young soldier’s wrist where he had tried to kill himself. Coulson saved his life and then spent the next five years proving how he could use his life and aim to do good with his life. Five years after he saved his life he asked Clint to stay the night with him. Two weeks later Clint moved his things to Coulson’s apartment for good. Already close, the two quickly became the best team on the docket. The addition of the Black Widow a year later just enhanced their reputation and ensured their place at the right hand of Director Fury. Then, after ten years of partnership, Clint was touched with a scepter and his entire world fell to pieces.

There was nothing he could do to fix the damage that he had caused while controlled by Loki. But that did not mean he could not punish those who had assisted in its creation. Lining up the shot he pulled the trigger three times, taking out the mercenary who had supplied weapons and soldiers to attack the helicarrier and his two bodyguards. Clint quickly broke down his rifle and started running ignoring the slight burn of abused muscles and the exhaustion that pressed at him. Just one more and he could rest.

He had been taking out mercenaries and guns for hire for the last two months. Most of those that Loki had touched died not long after the tesseract left the planet leaving him with few targets to track beyond those who had agreed out of revenge or simply for money, which was most of the soldiers and mercenaries. Loki only used the scepter on those who had something he needed, something the person would not be willing to give without the all consuming control the tesseract assumed, like Clint.

Clint’s entire mind and heart belonged to Phil and through Phil he belonged to Shield. As long as Phil was loyal to Shield Clint would be to. Phil was the one who saw Clint as a hero, his own personal version of Captain America out to save the day. Clint always know deep down he was a gun for hire and nothing more. He might have saved the day on occasion, saved both innocents and agents in the line of fire but he was always the one with a finger on the trigger and a body in his sights. At the end of the day the blood was on his hands whether it was justified or not.

Phil Coulson was the one bright spot in his life. His entire life until Coulson was one long stretch of abuse and pain. Clint had survived and even done okay for himself but he had rarely been happy. It took the years of working and living with Phil to see how much he had truly been missing in his life.

Clint reached his hotel room and quickly packed. He didn’t bother to check out, going straight from the hotel to a parking garage to change cars and keep driving. He had one last mark to find and someone was on his tail. He was fairly certain it was a Shield agent but it was someone who had at least talked to Natasha and knew his normal movements.

In a fit of irritation he changed his normal patterns, changed cars twice more, bought tickets for trains he never took, and slid through several stores changing his appearance three times before he was comfortable enough to sneak into an empty train car for a two day ride cross country. Whoever they were, they were good, just not good enough. The two days had been meant to be a rest in preparation for approaching his last target but Clint couldn’t rest. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Phil being stabbed through a veil of blue, Loki’s parting gift. He felt the weight of the sceptre and knew exactly what it felt like to sink it’s blade deep into his partner's back. He woke from the little sleep he did get fighting, shuddering with the icy blue pressure trying to pull apart his mind.

He stopped at a small cafe once he was in town and grabbed a large coffee. He was never really hungry since the attack and the battle afterward. He had picked at his share of the shwarma but in the two months since he had been mainly living off of coffee and gatorade. He knew he looked rough and felt worse but nothing mattered, not his injuries, not the lack of sleep or food, nothing. He was a hollow machine completing his final mission. It didn’t matter what happened, he had no reason to take better care of himself. Coulson was gone so that promise was void.

He spent the rest of the day watching his target and learning where the best lines of sight were around town. Picking his spot he found a deserted warehouse he could wait in until dark. He would make his move that night so no one would notice him getting into position. He settled into the rafters, rifle resting against his chest as he drew out his favorite memories of Phil and let them play over and over in his mind until the sun went down.

As soon as he pulled the trigger he knew he had been spotted. Leaving his rifle he pulled a handgun and was off and running even as the bodyguards returned fire, bullets sparking as the struck the walls around him. Ten minutes later he was halfway across town nursing two bullet wounds as he took out the last bodyguard.

Where was he going again? He shook his head to clear the fog and tightened the tourniquet around one leg. One stolen motorcycle later he was on his way. One final promise to keep and he could finally stop. Ten hours later he parked the bike on an out of the way street and limped his way across the sand to the water’s edge. He had promised Phil that they would go to the beach for their tenth anniversary of Phil saving his life, their fifth anniversary of being partners. It was a month late, but better late than never and all that.

Pulling out a knife he eyed the scars along one wrist. Pulling the chain from around his neck he wrapped it around his fingers so that the two platinum bands rested against his palm, biting into the skin as he made a fist. He barely felt the knife slid into his skin, he had already lost too much blood, dehydrated and running on adrenaline. Shakily cleaning his knife he put it away and pulled on his shield jacket that he almost never wore, no reason to scar the person that found him farther he thought as he relaxed back into the sand, hands tucked under his arms.

Blurrily watching the pulsing tide and the slowly rising sun he almost missed the black polished dress shoes that walked up next to him. Once the familiar suit settled next to him, he shifted just enough to watch his partner settle into the sand. He looked pale and tired but Clint figured dying would do that to someone.

 

“Clint.” Phil said once he was seated, twisted to watch his partner sprawled in the sand.

“Phil. Guess I managed to keep that promise after all.”

“Bit late but I think we both could use the vacation.” Phil said with a small smile.

“Yeah, probably want your ring back.” Clint said, fighting to shake off the black flooding his vision as he held out his hand toward Phil, the bloody chain dangling.

“Fuck, Clint!” Phil snarled as he grabbed at his wrist, fighting with the jacket as Clint gave in and let the darkness take him.

 

Clint woke up to the white walls and chemical smell of Shield Medical. He groaned hoarsely, twisting in bed, ignoring the flares of pain from his arm, back and leg. He was not supposed to be here, he was supposed to be with Phil. Figures he could not even get dying right.

 

“You are an idiot.” Natasha said, sitting on the edge of the bed next to him and offering a spoonful of ice chips. He thought about refusing them for a moment before he took them with a sigh, Tasha would probably force feed him if he refused.

“When was that even a question?” Clint rasped once his mouth was empty.

“We left you alone because you were avenging yourself.”  
“Avenging Phil.” he muttered shifting to find a better place on his pillow.

“You missed a lot while you were gone, Clint.” Natasha said brushing one hand along his unbandaged arm. “We missed you.” she offered sadly, “Phil missed you.”

“Phil’s dead, he can’t miss me.”

“Phil’s not dead, Clint. He’s the one who found you on the beach.”

“You’re lying.”

“He’s in the bed next to you. You’ve been out six days. We finally had to drug him to get him to sleep. Figures you’d wake up while he’s still out.”

“He’s not dead…” Clint trailed off trying to shift enough to see the bed across the room.

“No, I wanted to track you down but Fury wanted you to finish your mission first.”

“Wasn’t on a mission.” he muttered as she reached over him and cranked up the head of the bed until he could see he slack form of his partner still in a grey suit asleep in the other hospital bed.

“Fury filed it as one.”

“Nice of him.”

“I thought so as well, Agent Barton.” Fury said sweeping in and raising one eyebrow at the still sleeping Coulson. “Just how heavily is he drugged?”

“Not very, he was exhausted. He’d only been out of the hospital himself a week when we realized you only had one final target. He was the one who figured out where you would head next.”

“Promised him.” Clint muttered with a small cough, fighting to keep his eyes open.

“Stand down, Agent. I’ll make sure he’s back on his feet when you wake up.”

“Yes, sir.”

 


	2. The End.

The next time Clint woke, the lights had been dimmed and he could see the light of a lamp setup on the other side of the room. The steady scratch of a pen let him know who was there. With a small grunt he pulled himself onto his back, stabbing at the button to raise the head of the bed with his good hand.

“Hey.” Clint croaked, his voice wrecked.

“Need some water?” Phil asked, filling a small cup and holding it out so that Clint could sip from the straw. Once Clint had finished the cup he retreated back to the makeshift desk he had been working at.

“Pretty sure dying exempts you from paperwork.” Clint pointed out while trying to shift into a more comfortable position. It was hard considering one arm was covered in stitches and bandages, his thigh was one solid throb and the wound on his back twinged no matter how he shifted. He let out a small gasp as he settled on mostly his side still sitting up.

“That apparently doesn’t apply until the funeral. They didn’t expect me to survive surgery.” Phil said sifting through several folders. Clint tapped the red button to give himself a hit of pain medication hoping it would not knock him out, he wanted to finish this conversation.

“When did the team find out?”

“A month ago when I woke up and started rehab.”

“Are you going to come near me at all?”

“I wasn’t sure you would want me to.” Phil said, dropping the paper he was fiddling with and moving to stand next to the bed.

“You look tired.” Clint murmured, patting the bed next to him. Phil folded to a seat next to his leg with a sigh, taking Clint’s good hand between his.

“Dying takes it out of you.”

“Yeah.” Clint said running his thumb across Phil’s callused palm. “Don’t do that again.”

“Only if you promise not to scare me like that again.”

“I’ll try.”

“Clint.”

“I can’t promise more than that.” Clint said with a sigh. “Can you just hold me for a bit? I’m tired.” he murmured, tugging as Phil’s hand weakly.

“Sure. We still have to talk about everything later.”

“Okay.” Clint sighed as Phil kissed him lightly on the lips before laying down on his back so that Clint could lean against his chest. “Promise to stay?” Clint murmured as the drugs tugged him back toward sleep.

“Always.”


End file.
